'Christmas is not perfect but it does offer the opportunity for small moments of happiness'

In the final Lifeclass of the year, Lesley Garner addresses Telegraph readers with a Christmas message.

Lesley Garner wishes the readers of Lifeclass a very happy ChristmasPhoto: CLAIRE LIM

By Lesley Garner

7:00AM GMT 15 Dec 2009

Dear readers,

We have reached the Lifeclass column that marks the onset of another Christmas and the end of another year, and I find myself feeling rather serious. I think the reason for this is that the themes on which you have been writing to me lately are very deep and serious ones.

Christmas is a time for celebration and jollity, for families and reunions, for human presence. But what has been filtering through your letters in the last few months is a strong sense of absence and longing. Times are sombre and your correspondence reflects that.

The continuing roll call of deaths from Afghanistan has had a sobering effect on many of you, particularly those with a child in the armed forces. Many such parents have written, telling me about their fears, their isolation and their longing to meet others in the same situation. For technological reasons, we haven't yet come up with a way to get you all in touch with each other but we hope to in the future, so if this is something you would like, please write and let me know.

Others, responding to last week's letter from Debbie whose son grieves for the father he lost in childhood, wrote about the profound effect that the early loss of a parent had on them, too – not just as children, but throughout their adult lives.

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Another group expressed their sorrow and resentment over a different kind of absence: the loss of a partner to workaholism. This kind of absence can lead to the complete breakdown of a relationship and terrible suffering for the children involved. Death and divorce have equally devastating effects. As one woman, whose father died when she was a baby poignantly said, "I suspect that the children of divorce, however civilised on the surface, always suffer. Despite my loss, I feel that I suffered less in the long term because I have no sense of rejection and can still feel great pride in a father who loved me and was loyal to his ideals and his family."

And underlying all these human losses is a greater one, to which more of you responded than to any other topic: the loss of faith in God. The thoughtful tone of all the correspondence I received on the subject of religious doubt only confirmed what I know, that Telegraph readers are an exceptionally intelligent bunch. In fact, I received so many responses to the problem of Alice who had religious doubts that I am saving up the whole topic to have another look at it in the New Year.

So, loss and grief are what preoccupy many of us, even as we trek through glittering shops and are assaulted by tinny recorded carols. As always, unhappiness surges through the gap between expectation and reality, so the emphasis on family life at this time of year can be particularly painful.

It doesn't always help to be jollied out of gloom, as those of you who have written to tell me about the loss of a parent know well. "Many of my problems," wrote Lucy, "had deep roots in losing my father when I was eight, and being sent away to boarding school. But what lay deep inside me, besides grief, was the fact that we had never talked about my father and his death as a family, neither among ourselves nor with my mother. The prevalent attitude at that time was simply that we all had to get on with it, so the subject was never mentioned. One day my father and my childhood were there; the next day the whole world changed."

"I find it comforting," wrote Deidre, "to know that other people have been greatly affected by the loss of a parent in childhood. I have suffered from depression as an adult, and I believe now that this is connected with the loss of my mother when I was 17 months old. If my father had been able to talk to me about my mother, or if I'd had a photograph or could remember her, I'd have had fewer hang-ups about the situation."

It takes empathy and a bit of courage to allow people to talk about their loss, and particularly to give children room to express their feelings. How, you might ask, can you encourage a 17-month-old to express her feelings of loss? A 17-month-old's world is very physical, and cuddles are more appropriate than talking therapy. Nevertheless, sensitive adults can be alert to signals of distress and be ready to talk about a lost parent rather than swiftly changing the subject. Visits to graves or favourite places, objects connected with the lost parent, photographs, family stories and contacts can all be woven into the child's life. A charity that some of you mentioned that specialises in helping bereaved children, and adults bereaved as children, is Winston's Wish (www.winstonswish.org.uk, 08452 030405).

And it is because of the grief and loss that affects so many people, particularly during a season when all the emphasis is on cheeriness and togetherness, that I would like to sing the praises of routine and ritual. Whether you love Christmas or hate it, it stands like a monument in the darkness of the year offering the utterly predictable. Even though each family has its rituals, there are also communal rituals that are familiar to everyone. As somebody once said, at least on Christmas Day you don't have to wonder what to have for lunch.

The template is there, in our cultural genes, for what people eat and drink, what they give, what pleasures are on offer, who must be seen and visited, how children and elderly relatives should be treated. Although Christmas highlights loneliness and exclusion, there is, nevertheless, a common understanding that nobody should be left out. Relatives who go unvisited all year will get a call, a card and an invitation. For each day there are rituals and activities: tree-dressing, carol-singing, present wrapping and turkey stuffing. While all this activity is often deeply resented by the very busy, it gives shape and purpose to the day, at the darkest point of the year, which could otherwise feel very dreary and empty.

If a tradition seems unbearable at a time of loss, then invent one of your own, one that meets your needs. Only you and your family know whether roast turkey and Christmas crackers represent comfort in the face of adversity or are an unbearable reminder of lost happiness. It is absolutely fine, I think, to throw the whole lot up in the air and run away. It could be a retreat to a monastery or a flight to a barbecue on a tropical beach. Only you know what you need.

All I would say is, if life is difficult, talk about it among yourselves and, especially, listen to the children. The help that the depressed adults who wrote to me needed most was attention paid much earlier – 20, 30, 40 years earlier when they were small.

If your Christmas is too hectic for anybody to pay real attention to anyone else, then rein it in. The holidays can offer real chances for healing wounds if you let them. Think small. Christmas, like life, isn't about everything being perfect. But it does offer lots of opportunity for small moments of happiness, even to the forlorn and bereft. Switch off the Blackberries, grab as much happiness as you can and have a very happy Christmas.

* Please write to me with your dilemma at: Lesley Garner, Features, The Daily Telegraph, 111 Buckingham Palace Road, London SW1W 0DT or email: lesley.garner@telegraph.co.uk. Thank you for understanding that I cannot reply to each individual letter. If I do use your letters, I will change the names.